


Blood in the Breeze

by DoreyG



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Law Enforcement, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Bilbo just wants a cup of tea, Community: comment_fic, F/M, Gen, Investigations, M/M, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-03-01 04:13:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2759219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/pseuds/DoreyG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The deceased is a young man who went by the name of Findarel,” she answers promptly, somehow managing to look perfectly put together despite the fact that ‘that time of the morning’ is, and always has been, code for ‘just after 2AM on a cold winter’s night’, “6’4, mid-twenties, has a mother and a younger sister who both live downtown… Known associate of the Sindarin gang.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood in the Breeze

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Scathach](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scathach/gifts).



He’s never liked crime scenes. He knows that he should be used to them now, after so many years and so many things seen, but… He isn’t. They still get to him, worry him, _stress_ him in a way that often makes him wonder why on earth he chose this job in the first place.

Hah, like he ever had an easy _choice_.

“Give me good news,” he sighs to his deputy, a young woman who goes by the name of Tauriel – smart and efficient, one of the shining stars in the dull greyness that has become his life, “or… Any news at all, really. It’s that time of the morning.”

“The deceased is a young man who went by the name of Findarel,” she answers promptly, somehow managing to look perfectly put together despite the fact that ‘that time of the morning’ is, and always has been, code for ‘just after 2AM on a cold winter’s night’, “6’4, mid-twenties, has a mother and a younger sister who both live downtown… Known associate of the Sindarin gang.”

“The Sindarin gang?” He repeats, and resists the urge to just close his eyes – he has nowhere near the level of Tauriel’s poise, he’d be out against a wall like a shot, “does he have the-?”

Tauriel just _looks_ at him.

Of course, of course. He stops dead at the expression on her face, gives a tired sigh and presses a slow hand over his face – heavy, designed to wipe away at least _some_ of the sleep that still plagues him, “I don’t know why I asked that, really. Please forget that we even had this pointless detour.”

“It is that time of the night, sir,” Tauriel offers kindly, and hurries on before he has the chance to do more than blink gratefully, “I’ve sent Bard to inform the family, with instructions to leave out the more… Unpleasant details. And I was thinking of telling Legolas to check on his Sindarin contacts, see if they’ve heard of any recent action or details unknown to us.”

“Leaving Bofur to deal with the media,” he murmurs, and gives a slow nod – thinking on the job, still blinking gratefully like that’ll do more than drive the sleep even deeper, “good idea, he’s always been the most charming of us. Tell him to delay it until we have Gandalf’s impressions of the body, though.”

“I’ll inform them both when Gandalf arrives.”

“Of course,” he sighs again, shakes his head in a slightly more active attempt to wake up. He’d be annoyed at Gandalf, but the man has never once bothered to turn up on time in all the forty years of his career so he can hardly expect anything to change now, “I’ll deal with the higher-ups this time, I think – Elrond is in charge tonight and he’s always had a soft spot for me. And as for you…”

Tauriel drops her pen.

…Tauriel coughs, awkwardly, and bends to pick her dropped pen up. Hides behind her hair as she fiddles awkwardly with her notebook, “I’ll try to get in touch with my Durin contact, of course. See if he’s heard anything, or-“

He watches her sympathetically as she grinds to a halt. Offers a kind smile as she finally looks up again, professional expression firmly back in place and eyes so wonderfully cool, “I have faith in you, Tauriel. We’ll have a proper meeting at around 8AM, when we’ll hopefully all have something to contribute. I’ll see you again then.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And be careful!” He calls after her retreating back, muffles a low yawn in his sleeve as he turns to the body in the gutter again – tall, slim, exactly the kind of face designed to irritate a certain kind of person… “Be careful. Unlike the rest of us.”

The mark of the Sons of Durin stands out on the boy’s cheek, vivid against the dead pall of his skin. He knows that he should be used to it now, after so many years spent chasing and so many glimpses narrowly caught, but… Well. Thorin has never been an easy man to get used to.


End file.
